Hello, roomie!
The windows were open, and I could smell the grass outside. It was green and sunny — not a cloud in the sky. A prototypical Colorado day followed me around, as I moved what little I owned into a small cubby, under a lofted mattress, and into a petite wooden desk.
It was move-in day for college — fall 2007.
I rolled out a single-bed mattress sheet, chintzy comforter, and single pillow cover. The mattress was an ocean blue, and perpetually felt uncomfortable. But it was my new home.
Somewhere in this process, I learned to live with less. I didn’t call it minimalism back then. It didn’t feel like minimalism.
Forced space? Mandated minimalism
I wasn’t given the option to live any other way in college. My closet only accepted a few shirts, shoes, pants, etc. My bedroom didn’t allow for larger mattresses. And my desk only had room for the basic necessities: pens, paper, and laptop.
After my first year of college, I moved into another residence hall to become an “RA” or resident assistant. I loved my position. It was and still is my favorite job. But even then, with a little more room, I was forced to stay minimal.
Now, minimalism doesn’t always mean being frugal. Despite my enclosures, I cycled through lots of things. There was a $1200 road bike (kept outside and then sold), a mini fridge (under the bed and then sold), electronics (a desktop computer and then sold), and more. For everything I bought, I sold something else — both to afford the new item and make space.
I was hardly frugal. I was mad with the need to consume away my problems, concerns, and stresses of school. No matter how much I purchased, the feelings remained.
Where I failed budgetarily, I seemed to succeed in minimalism. My room was still neat and tidy, and presentable to residents and their parents. I didn’t have a need for lots of stuff — nor could I put it anywhere.
While I wasn’t ready to change my spending habits until years later, an inclination towards minimalism was cemented. All it took was a forced restriction from many years of residence hall rooms to prevent the purchase of more than I needed. I developed an affinity for a clean, organized room. I didn’t need or want to have tons of things.
The losses hurt immensely
Another component pushed me towards minimalism: loss. In college I was exposed directly and indirectly to losses in life. Three of my grandparents passed away, three people died by suicide on campus that I knew, and I went through some pretty nasty breakups.
These losses encouraged me to look beyond the petty grievances and consumer comforts of society. What was important was the life of those around me, and spending time with those I cared about. Again, things weren’t as important as people.
During this period of tragedy, I realized how loss of material possessions didn’t matter. Suddenly, I stopped worrying about people stealing my stuff, things failing, and/or leaving my home unattended. Renters insurance seemed irrelevant and unnecessary. I had nothing “priceless.”
What’s going to fit in the trunk?
After college and the losses, I moved for graduate school. Again, it was a time of forced minimalism. I could only take what would fit in my Honda Civic coupe. And there was an added caveat, as my brother would be occupying the passenger seat.
To lighten the load, I listed items on Craigslist and asked friends if they needed odds and ends. Then, my brother and I filled the car with deconstructed IKEA furniture, clothing, and other household items. Our seats were forced upright — unable to recline — by the tightly packed vehicle.
Everything I owned fit into one tiny little car. It felt freeing, but frankly, all I could think about was the truly precious cargo: my brother. If everything else disappeared, let it not be him. That’s all that mattered/matters.
What really matters in life is…
I never sought to be a minimalist in my younger years, it found me. When I entered a small space and shared it with a roommate, I was forced to have less. When I lost loved ones, I was forced to reflect on what was most important. When my brother helped me move, I pictured what I would really need.
Stuff never came first.
Recently, I was grabbing a drink with someone and this question came up: “What would you grab if your apartment/house were on fire (excluding pets and humans)?”
I thought briefly about this question and almost cried. I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing mattered beyond the human and pet connections in my life. Nothing. I feared the loss of… nothing.
Ever since college, dragging my stuff back and forth from West Coast to East, I’ve never really had a great affinity for things. I could fit my life in a suitcase, and that was perfectly fine with me. As you said, it’s not stuff that matters, it’s people.
Great post, Sam!
Taylor,
It’s funny, that experience is quite familiar for many. And yet, not everyone becomes a minimalist afterwards. I wonder what hit us in that process.
Thanks for reading!
Sam
Great thoughts, Sam. I asked myself that same question when doing our renter’s insurance recently. Obviously, it’s good to not have to re-purchase all of our stuff, especially since we’ve been stocking up on baby stuff the last few months. But the only things I would really care about are: my wife’s paintings and our wedding and family pictures.
Ben,
When you get down to those basics, could they ever really be insured? You’re right on the money that the most important “things” tend to be about people. Even art can actually be a reminder of those we hold dearest. Could you ever really replace that feeling and connection with money? My guess is no way! 🙂
Thanks for commenting,
Sam
“I thought briefly about this question and almost cried. I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing mattered beyond the human and pet connections in my life. Nothing. I feared the loss of… nothing.”
I hope that you almost cried because of relief, a weight being lifted when it comes to your belongings and the knowledge that you’ve figured out – the – most – important -thing. Many people form emotional attachments to their inanimate objects and then losses can be heartbreaking. There’s a need to separate memories from objects…so take a picture.
My memory matters most, so photos would probably be the thing I’d miss – I don’t have them all in ” the cloud” somewhere – yet.
Thank you for this thoughtful article.
I’d grab our external hard drive. We’re in the process of putting our photos on the cloud, but we’re not done yet. Anything else could be bought again.
Get them up there on that cloud! Then, you can get rid of the external hard drive.
Personally, I wouldn’t trust the cloud long-term 😮 There is absolutely no guarantee that my photos will be accessible in 5, 10 or 30 years, never mind 100 years like some old ones still in my possession!!
I had a very similar transition to a minimalist lifestyle when I spent 3 summer working in Alaska. At first, I took only what fit into a car, and the next 2 years, it was only what would fit into my suitcase. I discovered how much richer life was when I focused on experiences, nature, and the people around me.
Fascinating (and sad) article my man. Good for you for putting it all out there for us though – it’s so nice to read REAL sincere thoughts and experiences like this!
As for that question at the end, the only thing I’d love to be able to save in a fire outside of my wife and beautiful baby boys and cat (obviously they come first) would be my coin collection. The odds that I could grab all of my people and that cigar box is slim to none in an emergency event, and I wouldn’t miss it too terribly, but for some reason it’s the only thing I’m “attached” to. Yes they’re cool to me, as well as being valuable for that matter, but something about them being all the things-things I care about simply intrigues me. I don’t know if it’s cuz they all fit in a little box, or I’m super picky as to what coins go in there vs which I’m fine selling/trading, but for whatever reason they make me happy 🙂
Didn’t mean to go on a tangent here, but I did enjoy this article, haha… Thanks so much for taking the time to share it with us.
J!
I appreciate you noticing both the positive and negative in these words. It’s both of these poles that made me a minimalist, but it definitely took hardship to get there.
Ah, the coin collection! I would imagine that one is pretty darn important to you. 🙂 I’ll let you take that one, then!
Thanks for commenting,
Sam
I have actually had this happen to me (the fire thing.) My roommate woke me up at about 6 am on a very hot summer morning, pounding on the door — building’s on fire! Get up! It being so hot, I wasn’t wearing a thing, so I stumbled up, grabbed my robe and put it on, slid some sandals on my feet, and picked up my backpack and shoved my laptop into it (sans cord) and my phone and wallet. It so happened that the backpack also had a lot of photos in it because I’d just brought them home from the office. Later on, I was able to recover quite a bit of clothing after washing/dry cleaning it (it was just smoky) and my kitchen stuff was fine too. But none of that was particularly important. I dug through and also recovered a couple of small and luckily hardy decorative items that were important to me, all gifts from people. And I semi-recovered the quilt I’d hand-sewn in college, which I’ve never used on my bed again because there are holes all over it where sparks caught before the fire was put out, and washing it several times did it no favors either (delicate materials), but I do use it for picnics.
I actually kind of have a decorative setup now where all my most precious trinkets are kept together; whenever I move I put a few small things (a rosary my grandmother gave me, that sort of thing) in one spot, with the idea that if I had to do that again, I’d grab my laptop and phone and wallet (again!) and hopefully have a few seconds to also sweep this stuff into a bag. If I had even a little more time than that, I’d grab my jewelry (not expensive, but sentimental) and, oddly, a couple of mugs that I really like having my coffee in 🙂
At the end of the day, though, if I lost all those physical things, some would be a pain to replace (credit cards, computer) and some would be actually irreplaceable (that rosary) but I’d be pretty ok as long as I had my memory and family/friends.
You’re wise beyond your years. I’m glad your site link was forwarded to me.
Aww, thanks Kat. You’re too sweet! 🙂
I became a minimalist too from moving a bunch of times and then selling stuff to prep for my back packing trip. I agree minimalism doesn’t meant frugal either. Instead of a collection of watches I have two. Instead of closet of jeans I have 4.
This is a great reflection on what really matters in life and the true freedom that comes from that value. I’ve been thinking lately about how minimalist my college years were. When we were first married our goal was to keep living like we did in college to avoid lifestyle inflation as we started our careers. Two kids and a house later we’re far from the college life but we have succeeded in keeping our expenses way below our means. Your post is a good reminder of why we do this!
Kalie,
Thanks for sharing your experience moving away from college and beginning to raise a family. It can be exceptionally challenging to stay minimalistic while entering those phases of life. My guess is that if you continue to live well below your means, you’ll stay close to the most important things in your life. 🙂
Sam
I think there are two things that made me into a minimalist- one, living in NYC, small spaces; two- living out of one sub 50lb suitcase for years of my life on tour. Even now, I’m always purging.
Stefanie,
Perfect example! This gets to the “up in the air”-style minimalism.
What would you take with you?
What fits in the bag? If it doesn’t fit in the bag, is it really important?
When you live a life that forces minimalism, it seems easier to go with less.
Thanks for the comment,
Sam
I have some keepsakes I would be going back for, but none are particularly valuable. I was close with my grandfather and have some of his things that I would try to save. Usually the expensive things you own (except maybe your computer) aren’t the things you actually care about.
We have some freakish similarities about our college lives (include same starting dates and becoming an RA sophomore year). I completely agree with the minimalism agenda being (perhaps accidentally) promoted in college. I too have embraced it in post-college life simply because I don’t want to deal with moving a bunch of stuff when I inevitable leave my NYC apartment. I also figured I’d be moving apartments relatively frequently as most NYC dwellers typically do. Instead, I’ve stayed in the same apartment for four years, but kept the accumulation to a minimum because I know I’ll move one day and don’t want to shell out a bunch of money to do so.
Haha. What are the odds!? Well, we are both “Broke Millennials”! 🙂
Cheers to the RA life! Hope you had as much fun and growth as I did. It was an incredible experience.
I can’t imagine the spaces of some NYC minimalists. Sometimes I really like the idea of downsizing to the micro-apartments. Alas, there’s nothing like that here in Iowa. Too much space!
Love your attitude towards buying less for future moves, too.
Sam
Why do you think we all call it STUFF? It fills the pillows and toy animals, describes what we are all carrying on in our heads that burdens us, and refers to the feeling we have after Thanksgiving dinner when we have simply had too much. We don’t need it. It doesn’t contribute to a sense of well-being. Stuff is often a burden.
Well said, Adrienne! Stuff, stuffed, and stuffs! They’re filler — not substance. People are the priceless items we should focus on. 🙂
Thanks for commenting,
Sam
My Mom once said to me, “I wish I could give you everything you want”
My response: “I already have everything I want, and none of them are things”
We carry all of our possession in a couple backpacks as we roam the globe. A few clothes, a camera, and a guitar are about all the things we need. Friends, family, freedom, and time are the other 99%
Moving is the ultimate minimalizer (a word?) in my experience. When we’re forced to sift through our stuff and then consider the cost and burden of moving it, minimalism becomes incredibly attractive. Recently, Mr. FW and I went on a little weekend trip up to Vermont and stayed on a homestead similar to where we hope to live one day, and we decided that we’d be fine never going back to our house again if needed. We’d need someone to deliver Frugal Hound to us, but other than that, we realized we don’t own anything that we felt was that pressing to have.
That being said, we live a comfortable life and we like our stuff. But, it’s good to remember that remove–I’ve always hated the idea of being owned or controlled by my stuff.
If the house was on fire, I would grab my spouse and pets first, of course, but would also like to grab my phone and laptop (which I just got for Christmas and immediately fell in love with).
I turned off my condo’s heat and air-conditioner for years (here in GA) when my sons were growing up.”Just put on extra sweater and socks” or in the summers, “Go play in the swimming pool…”
They used to complain to their friends’ parents, “Our mom is sooooo cheap..”
Today, at 21 and 19, they are in college with no school loans, and they had seen all 7 continents of the world, All with a single-parent’s hospital nursing salary.
This is a total success story!!! Thank you so much for sharing this experience with everyone. What perseverance you showed! Congratulations. 🙂